


A penetrating wound through and through

by Straj



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straj/pseuds/Straj
Summary: The completion of all the previous stories about Sherlock, but not the end of all this universe.How Sherlock would react to the news that his friend is on the verge of death? What will he do?About John have all and Sundry wrote about Sherlock too....





	

John wrote in the notebook, sitting in a chair:  
\- "All we have is good. Sherlock recovered from his sudden love. Although when I came home, caught him standing in the hallway smiling and silly. In my attempts to get him to talk, he just smiled and gawked at. But we never found out who he was in love.  
Writes fanfiction so far. Sometimes I read his work and write comments..."  
— "Excellent".  
— "...And Sherlock misses you. Experimenting with tea. A fully switched from nicotine patches to tea. Before he told me — "the Case for three of the patch". Now — "the Case for three cups of tea"  
— "Can't do anything. It's his choice. Ben misses too".  
— "I have a request to you, Mick".  
— "What?"  
— "Don't come any more. It is when start nonsense to do."  
— "First, I come to Benedict. Secondly, I'm in London, there are only three times — "at Christmas, on birthdays and when I am on vacation, and even then not always. I'm just not going to get to go, since my presence annoys you".  
— "I would be very grateful," - John ended the conversation and closed the laptop.

— Who wrote this? - asked Sherlock; he, perched in a chair, with special attention he studied the scrap of wool cloth.  
— Wrote nothing, — replied John, — just your blog I checked, but the huskies thought.  
— It is a pity that Mick had left, - Sherl sighed, got off the chair and went to the kitchen to their tubes.  
\- He has to work. It's not you... wanted to sleep, wanted, walked, wanted — began to unravel the case. Mick's got a boss, that worked, thumbs and not beaten...  
— No need to be jealous of Mick`s, - said Sherlock, - we're just good friends.  
— I'm not jealous, - mad John, - just saying he's there to entertain you.  
— Jealous, don't argue. I voice hear. Mick — my friend and me just not enough. He's such a cute habit like you. And you know me, I have established habits and you are one of them.  
— What? - John exploded, - I'm your habit?! That's what you mean?  
— Do not make a noise, - and Sherlock looked up from his test tubes and looked at John. This look was friendly and calm, — you're my habit. And for you I throat even ISIS claw.  
— Somehow it's a surprise, - muttered John, - let's get behind all this, - John nodded to the tubes, — I will prepare the dinner.

Day, in General, was calm. In the evening Sherlock ran to Lestrade, and John was left alone. The next day he had to go to work, so I had to go to bed early.  
John cleaned the kitchen and went to sleep. He had his cell phone turned off and, for the arrival of Sherlock, already sleeping peacefully in his room.

***

 

A month passed, followed by the second.  
Sherlock was minding my own business, John his. About Mick none of them are particularly remembered.  
But one evening on his cell phone, John received a message: "the Subscriber is asked to call urgently". The number showed up unknown. John decided to take a risk.  
— Hello?

— Yeah, I — John Watson. What happened?

— My God! But I do with it?

\- Ah, Mr. Holmes! Well, okay, I'll tell him.

\- Okay, okay. Certainly. Today and say. Bye! - John pressed the end call and stared into the fireplace. His mind tossed thoughts:  
— "What to do? Needless to say Sherlock? Whether it is necessary to raise this issue? If it happened, then why put Sherlock to such stress? And if you ask? No, Sherlock had forgotten Mick`s, no need to remind him. No, and no court no. But on the other hand, as it will be wrong. I know, and he then finds out from the left side that I knew and didn't tell.... Might be offended. What to do?" — so nothing came up, John took dinner.  
\- John!!! - Sherlock in a rather disheveled form flew into the room and began to thrash around, — I found!!!  
\- What? — icily asked John.  
\- Killer, - laughed Sherlock, — you know, the type that brought the milk into the street, and was a murderer.  
\- Okay, - John did not respond to this message.  
— What happened? — serious Sherlock, - you're somehow not adequately respond...  
\- Nothing. While there, - John turned to friend, - called me... and said that Mick was wounded.  
— No, no! - Sherlock backed away and sat by the chair. In his gray eyes splashed outright panic, turning in horror, - Oh God! Need something to do!  
— I'm not sure you'll be able to do something, - lazily replied John, feeling something akin to jealousy, — he's now in Los Angeles.  
— I'm going to Los Angeles! - Sherlock jumped to his feet and grabbed the phone, - I'll call now and book tickets on the next flight.  
— Sherlock! - John felt washed-maniac, — chill out and calm down. You don't want to go there, because you will not save, and only spend time and money.  
— How can you? — Sherll looked in amazement at him, - hurt my friend! If it was you, Mick, for example, reported it, you'd think he would let me? He would've gone to you! I know it! And you...  
— You don't want to go, - John gripped the handle of the knife so that as much bone white. "Nice knife," — suddenly he thought, - "with such a fine sharp blade. As he gently went to Sherlock between the third and fourth rib".  
— You can't stop me, — said Sherlock and ran away.

***

 

A day later a foster Glendale Memorial Hospital broke awesome brunette in black coat.  
\- Hello. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I want to see Mick Melloun actually has.  
\- Detective Melloun actually has to be in intensive care.  
— Please, I want to see him... - Sherlock pleadingly he clasped his hands.  
— Okay, okay, — melted nurse, - third floor, room 33.

Sherlock flew up the stairs, was on the third floor and went to room 33.  
Opened the door and looked inside.  
Mick was there.  
Pale, entangled by wires.  
— Mick? - in a whisper spoke, Sherlock tiptoed to the bed, - Mick...  
That answered nothing. Sherlock looked at the other. The whole chest is bandaged, all studded with wires and terminals.  
Sherlock sat down beside him.  
— You little my! God, how did that happen? Find out who drove you here, I'll kill with my own hands!

Then came a tall girl with silver hair, dressed in a black and silver dress. Sherlock stood to meet him.  
\- Who are you? - startled she asked.  
— Sherlock Holmes, and you, if I am not mistaken, the wife of Mick`s?  
— Yes, my name is Snezhana, — the girl stroked Mick's hair.  
— Tell us what happened?  
— He was shot — said Snezhana, — he returned home and went to the store, for the previously made order. When Mick walked out of the store, was approached by two men and shot him.  
— God! - muttered Sherlock.

But then looked dark-haired big guy with blue eyes, dressed in a blue shirt and gray jeans.  
— Snezhana? And who is this?  
— Sherlock Holmes, - Sherlock introduced himself, — I was called to London.  
— It is clear. My name is Max Tanski. I — mate Mick`s.  
— Snezhana told me that Mick was shot?  
\- Yes. Two bullets forty-five caliber, explosive. One shot at close range, the other in the back. The shop owner immediately called an ambulance and the police. Mick lost a lot of blood, he punctured both lungs...  
Snezhana sobbed.  
— Sorry, Snezhana, - and Max escorted Snezhana`s from the chamber, and Sherlock heard the fragments of words - ... better go home. We're here.

Then Max went back into the room.  
— We're all waiting for Mick to Wake up. Besides him, none of the attackers have not seen. And Mick still in an artificial coma but still with a respirator.  
— My God! - repeated Sherlock, - what can I do to help?  
— I don't know, - Max shrugged.  
\- I'm staying here, - thought, Sherlock, - maybe Mick wakes up...  
— Well, — said Max, — I'll agree about you.  
\- Thank you.

***

 

Sherlock got the bed next and the opportunity to eat in the dining room. But he fell asleep, her face buried in the shoulder of Mick`s and holding a friend's hand.  
And had Sherlock sleep.  
He sees the white desert, parched by the scorching sun. Is the desert the Mick. Arms and legs spread, lying face up and spread out underneath the blood. The blood soaks into the parched soil and grow flowers, but they wilt quickly.  
Sherlock looks at it from a height, and then descends, sits down next to Mick`s and takes him in his arms, pressing her against him.  
— Don't go away, Mick, - whispers Sherlock, - I just fell in love with you again, and here you are... here...  
— "Let me go, Sherlock. Fall in love with someone else..."  
— You what? Crazy! - Sherlock sees that Mick's lips don't move.  
\- "No, with such wounds do not live. A couple of days, and my heart stops..."  
— Don't even think, - Sherlock lifts the shirt on the chest of the other; there's two huge holes, from which gushes blood. Sherlock notices the heartbeat.  
— "... Snezhana will go all the movable and immovable property. Her and my family. And you take my heart. Will draw it nicely and put next to the skull..."  
\- That's what udumal, — angry Sherlock, - is your heart when you left.  
— "To Ben something has to give. You can share with him..."  
\- Not Pori fever, - Sherlock pinned Mick`s to himself, - nowhere, no one, no one...

Sherlock woke up abruptly, looked at Mick`s. He remained immovable. Sherlock was asleep.  
And again he returned to the desert without water.  
— Mick! Who shot you? Can you remember?  
\- "He was wearing a mask. Black mask trait. With red horns. Was dressed in a black coat, leather pants and high boots with buckles, just like j-rockers. He approached me at arm's length. The second one I never saw".  
\- You remember anything?  
Sherlock was in a long white hallway, the walls were cabinets. On the cabinets it was written — "Favorite quotes from books" or "Favorite scenes from movies", "Favourite movies" and so on. The corridor went far into the distance. Sherlock flew far up to the rack, on which was written "Familiar sounds". From the cupboard stretched out, a long shelf, which was the type of mental images.  
Took off the card, Sherlock caught a glimpse of the visualization, the card went to another closet where it connects with the other card.  
— "This is my former colleague"  
— I remember, Mick. This is your mind Palace?  
\- "No, I call it the" archive..."

— Sherlock! What are you doing? — Sherlock woke to the sounds of a familiar voice. He raised his shaggy head. At the door was alarmed Ben.  
— Hey, Ben! - Sherlock yawned convulsively, - I need to get in touch with partner Mick`s. I have some information.  
— You need sleep, - Ben said, - here's the key to my room, - Benedict handed him the key, - to go to sleep and I Mick will sit.

Sherlock rushed to look for Max, and met him near the door of the hospital.  
— Max, I have news. Don't ask me how, but I think they will be useful, - and quickly told all that he had learned from Mick.  
— Can not be, — did not believe Max, - it just can't be.  
\- But you arrest him? — hopefully asked Sherlock.  
— Of course, we'll hold him off. But this guy was fired before Mick`s, for unwarranted aggression to staff. Don't understand what made him to do that, — Max looked alarmed, - you go where you were going, and I will report back to my superiors, and go to arrest him.

Sherlock went to the hotel, had a hearty Breakfast, went up to the room and fell asleep. He slept without dreams, and so soundly, woke up only in the evening.  
Sitting on the bed, he immediately remembered why he was here, so hurriedly shaved, washed and dressed, Sherlock rushed to the hospital.  
Ben was waiting for him.  
— How is he? - asked Holmes.  
— No change, — Ben looked at Sherlock, - but I feel that he clings to life, though.  
\- We must not allow his death, - said Sherlock, - I will pay him back... and the lungs and heart, and blood...  
— I also. Okay. You on the post, and I'll see what I can do to help... - Ben is gone.  
Sherlock was crouching by the bed and took the motionless hand of Mick`s in their hands.  
— Don't go, Mick! Please.

He gawked at midnight, and then fell asleep.  
And he again saw parched desert, Mick, a puddle of blood... But the flowers which grew from the blood of one, not dried out.  
— Mick! My love, don't die!  
\- "I remember, Sherl! The second was wearing grey suede boots. On the left were dark spots. And when he passed me I remember. On his sole left blood. He stepped. It is grey suede boots with round nose and weighted back..."  
\- Is just fine, Mick.  
\- "but don't remember... "  
— All right, Mick. I will not leave you. And Ben here. All will be well.  
\- I will be back. You're here, then let me no die before  
Sherlock looked at Mick`s. His eyes were open and mouth was moving.

Sherlock woke up abruptly. Mick looked at him wide-eyed.  
— Good, my good! Everything will be fine.  
Mick smiled eyes and again closed them.

This morning Mick`s was transferred to a regular ward.  
In the afternoon came Max.  
\- We got him! - he said to Sherlock, - he was such a jerk that not even destroyed evidence.  
— Questioned?  
— Interviewee, but he is silent about the second. Used Roger, maybe he will knock.  
— Give me, - said Sherlock, - I quickly his tongue will loosen.  
— As soon as Roger finished, we'll give you.

In the evening Sherlock was invited to the police station. The alleged killer turned out to be a skinny style of the fifties, thoroughly beaten and dressed in a grey hoodie and torn jeans.  
\- So, - Sherlock looked at the suspect, - with a drinking problem, psychological trauma in early childhood, cirrhosis of the liver in the initial stage. Latent homosexual tendencies in latent form, like to beat all the weak.  
\- Shut up, - hissed he, - who told you, fuckface?!  
— No. I see.  
— I to you will tell nothing.  
— Tell! - Sherlock approached him and knocked him out of the chair. Suspect loud klatsnul jaw on the edge of the table, — if you don't, I'll torture.  
— Hit the wrong guy, - the suspect spat blood.  
\- And I'll begin to tell you all your childhood, adolescence and the rest of life...  
— Okay. You win. I had not seen this type. The first time I he was heard. He called me and said that he has a job. I asked him, what? And he said to me, we need a COP to fill up. The type of all rank-rank. I'll pay. Well, I'm broke, I agreed. And the second time I that night and saw it. Yes, he was in a black mask, as the rebels, and something black. We made a deal, he told me the money was transferred and dumped.  
— A voice? Can you remember a voice?  
— Shrill voice, as if unhappy.  
\- Bad business, - Sherlock came to the door and knocked; the door opened and he was released.

\- How is it?  
\- Nothing. The second he saw it, but didn't. Perhaps the scene is already not fit for inspection?  
— Well, a month has passed.  
— I can go there to take? Maybe I'll get you something.  
\- Of course, - Max smiled, - to catch the second one, I'm prepared.

And at this time woke up Mick. Ben, who was sitting nearby, saw it and was glad.  
\- Welcome back, Sparrow!  
Mick have posably fingers.  
\- Paper to give you? — guessed Ben, holding out a pencil and paper.  
Crooked Mick wrote: "John is in danger. Warn Sherlock".  
— Well, Sparrow.  
Mick closed his eyes and relaxed.

***

 

The next morning Sherlock ran to the hospital to check on Mick`s.  
Ben rose to meet him.  
— how's he doing?  
\- Okay, - Benedict handed him the note, - Mick wrote yesterday. Not know but give.  
\- Again Mick thinks so, then so it is, - Sherlock took it and read, - I'll call John.  
— The doctors say it was a miracle that Mick woke up so quickly. Today it was inspected. The healing is in full swing.  
— So we're here, - smiled Sherlock, - we support it. I ran, and you sit and watch him.

In the car, Sherlock dialed John.

— Died?!  
— No, of course? John..., not if you shot Mick?  
— I did all this time was you!  
— Okay. I know. I'm just checking. So you throw in there and come to Los Angeles.  
\- What?!  
— Because you're in danger.  
— Who told you that?  
— Mick. He woke up and wrote yet can not speak.  
\- Forgive me, Sherlock, for trying to talk you out of. I will arrive on the next flight.  
— I'll wait.

— Partner? — asked Max.  
— Friend, — replied Sherlock, hiding his cell phone in his jacket pocket; his coat, he left the room Ben because it was too hot to roam.  
\- That's why we came, - Max stopped the car near a nondescript store, — here such pies baked, yum.  
Sherlock got out of the car and began to scour the perimeter, and Max went to speak with the owner of the store.

Half an hour later, Sherlock entered the store and stood near the door.  
— Have you found anything?  
\- Yes, - Sherlock sighed, — one sleeve, one polyarchy trail, and the butt.  
— What do you think?  
— I would say that the second alien. He smoked cigarettes English production, but the brass was forty-five. Shoes are heavy, but the leg of this man is not particularly small. And something about this track seems to me very familiar...  
\- Eat, - Max invited him to sit and pushed a piece of onion pie, - the evidence is so-so, we for the first time did not really found.  
\- Mick knows something, but for some reason not talking, - Sherlock began to eat.  
\- Quite possibly, - Max is sad, but then cheered up, - and what I'll do. Order pies for the plot, for you, for your buddy that is now with Mick sitting, and for someone to come. Mick woke up. This is good news.

***

 

John came in the night and stopped at Benedict in the room that was not there. He was at a charity event in favour of the police. Sherlock spent the night in the hospital.

— Mick?  
Mick opened his eyes and smiled. The device he had removed, and Mick, though with difficulty, but was breathing on his own.  
— How are you?  
— I'll live, — hissed Mick.  
— Can tell me who's the second?  
\- No, - the other voice answered Mick, — I can't.  
\- Why?  
\- Because the truth is too dangerous.  
\- So you saw him?  
— I can hear it, fading consciousness. Understood. And realizing, lost consciousness.  
— Who is who?! - Sherlock was starting to get annoyed.  
— The smell...  
\- What do you mean?  
— The smell of someone standing at the door, - Mick turned his head and looked at the door, — this fine tobacco. This is it. Sherlock, hide.  
\- Why?  
\- He came to kill me, — Mick bright eyes looked at each other, — it's still good communication.  
— And you what? Really think I'll have to see how he kills you? — angry Sherlock.  
— No. You stop him, - Mick coughed.  
\- Of course, - Sherlock leaked in the closet.

A doctor came in. He looked at Mick; he lay with his eyes closed.  
— You're not dead, you bastard, - said Dr. the familiar voice, causing Sherlock shivers down my spine ran well. - Now it's all over. — He took from his pocket a gun with a silencer and pointed at a defenseless Mick.

Sherlock jumped out of the closet and pounced on the killer. A fight broke out. The gun flew off somewhere in a dark corner.  
A tangle of bodies rolling on the floor, cursing, gasping, screaming; Mick watched it all, but attempts to stand did, because they understood that to sense from it will not. Finally, the fight stopped. Sherlock was bound to encroach on Mick's torn robe, and sent him to the light of a Desk lamp.  
— MYCROFT?! YOU DIED?!  
\- Hell, - screams bloody Mycroft, - I'm not that idiot to swallow the suspicious teas in your home. Of course, I know, whose hands this business, and disappeared. I no love you, Sherlock, have never loved, you make me sick.... Tinkering with different plebs, no respect!!! I thought that everything would start to write slash fanfiction about you and you will be, maybe, first on paper and then real fucking. But your friends got in the way. Sorry, you're not dead, you bastard! — Mycroft hissed in the direction of Mick`s. — you had in your head to shoot.  
— Shut up!!! - Sherlock swung and moved his leg over the head of Mycroft.  
He quivered and died.  
— Because you didn't tell me?! Yes?  
— Yeah. He told me the same shouting, — Mick smiled, — that he would find John and kill him. And you ban in the house, beaten, and then sell to a brothel.  
\- But it's over now.  
\- He will weasel out of it, if Roger will not find before.

The chamber broke into Max with the police.  
— What happened?!  
\- Here's your second killer, - Sherlock lifted the collar of Mycroft, — I beg to love and to kill. Mycroft Holmes. My older brother, from whom I deny in the presence of witnesses.  
\- Even so, - drawled Max, - thanks for the catch.  
— And here's the gun, - Sherlock stretched out on the pencil gun.  
\- You're a good kid, Sherlock.

***

 

A month later Mick was discharged, and Ben took it with him on vacation.  
Mycroft wanted to put, but Roger got to it first. What was left of him was buried in a closed coffin.  
Mick spent a month in London, in Scotland and in Ireland. Ben was once, therefore was looking after Sherlock and John.

And when it came time to leave, Mick said to Sherlock:  
— Thanks for not letting me go. And supported when I was going to die.  
— Thank you, Mick! - smiled Sherlock, - I'm wounded... you. Whatever you said — f penetrating wound through and through.  
— Hmm. Yes, a penetrating wound, — Mick blinked the eyes, — give me a hug, while John sees.  
— A kiss?  
— While only a hug.


End file.
